


Beyond Call of Duty

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a journalist, and he is assigned to write a profile piece about the leader of the Delgado Center for Community Outreach Scott McCall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Call of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> The picture of Scott McCall of the Delgado Centre are here: http://tyler-posey.us/2013/10/new-photoshoot-2/ . An AU where they were not friends since age 4, when Stiles peed on Scott’s sandcastle in an attempt to fill the moat (thanks, BleepObleep for duct taping those headcanons together). Melissa and the sheriff know each other professionally, but their kids went to different schools. I’ve adopted KouriArashi’s name for the sheriff because I have a massive crush on her work.
> 
> Taking liberties with how newspapers are run, because my understanding of that derives mostly from fictional tv programs that probably sacrifice truthfulness to the practicalities of storytelling. I understand that some US newspapers have a Sunday edition?
> 
> I have a this headcanon that Claudia read How To Train Your Dragon with wee!Stiles when she was still capable. 
> 
> The Scoville scale is used to measure heat in chillies. No chillies were harmed in the production of this fic. My husband may have suffered a little at my cooking.
> 
>  
> 
> Beta-read and US picked by my darling friend Fightyourdragon. Remaining flaws are mine.  
> Not canon, just fun.

“Stilinski, you’re doing the profile of McCall!” Editor-in-chief Finstock calls across the hallway.  
Stiles looks up from the paperwork he managed to dig up on the Argents. “What? No! I’m on the verge of a…”   
“He’s from Beacon Hills, you’re from Beacon Hills. Boom! Instant rapport.” With that proclamation, Finstock strides back into his office and closes the door behind him.   
Stiles sighs, and accepts the inevitable: he puts aside the papers and googles Scott McCall to get a feeling for what he can expect. The search yields that Scott McCall is the leader of the Delgado Center for Community Outreach. Quite a career switch for someone who started to train as a vet after graduating Beacon Hills High School. The picture on the website shows a cleanshaven young professional in a gray suit. Stiles jots the address into his phone, and calls the center to set up an appointment. A young woman answers the phone, Kira Yukimura, who was also featured on the website as one of the trainers.

He drives to the Delgado Center on Thursday morning. “Your destination is on your right,” the gps informs him. There’s a basketball court on the left, and there’s a group of teenagers playing. One guy turns to look at the car, and gives an awkward wave. Stiles mentally adjusts the guy’s age up a bit. A little socially awkward, Stiles thinks to himself, so that’s probably not Scott McCall, head honcho of the Delgado center. He gets out of the car, and looks for a way to announce himself. He presses what he hopes is the doorbell, and a woman comes out to meet him.  
“Are you Stiles Stilinski?” she asks.  
“Yes, ma’am. And you are?”   
“Kira Yukimura. We spoke on the phone.”   
Stiles nods and gives his best polite smile.   
“I run Delgado with Scottie over there.” She nods at the basketball court. “Scott, you coming?” she yells, “the guy from the paper is here!”  
“Just go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute!” Scott calls back.  
“You heard him,” Kira says, gesturing at Stiles to enter.

Kira leads him to a small kitchenette and offers him the choice between tea and coffee. “It’s instant, though,” she add apologetically.   
“Tea, please,” he says. “I find coffee doesn’t really agree with me most days.”   
She turns to fill the kettle. “Doing the whole detox thing?” she says.  
“Nah. ADHD.”  
“Sorry.”  
“It’s okay. It has its perks, once you get the hang of it. Of course, getting the hang of it is what took most of my teenage years.” She smiles at that.  
They’re quiet for a bit as the water comes to a boil, and Kira offers him a choice of teas. He picks the blandest mixture he can find and lets it steep for only a minute. Kira leads him into a small office. There are portraits on the walls.  
“So, have you worked here long?” he asks.  
“Yes, since the beginning. We set it up together, really. I run the admin side of things and I still teach the martial arts class and the self-defence for girls.”  
“That’s cool. What kind of martial arts?” Stiles asks, since the best way to get people to relax and talk is by asking them about stuff they like to talk about. She tells him animatedly about the girls in her class and how she teaches them about self-defence and bodily autonomy. He sips his tea and hums encouragingly. The door outside opens and closes and they hear Scott coming in. Stiles takes a deep breath, because on closer inspection the man is gorgeous: broad shoulders in a tank top revealing tanned arms. Stiles swallows and tells himself to keep it professional.  
“Hey, I should maybe shower before we do this?” Scott asks.  
“It’s okay, I’m immune to sweaty shirts: I used to play lacrosse.” Real smooth, Stilinski, he mentally chides himself.   
“You played lacrosse? Dude, I played lacrosse too!” Scott’s face lights up. “Where’d you play?”  
“Well I say play, I was mostly on the bench. Puberty kicked in late for me.”  
McCall looks him over appreciatively. “You look pretty good to me, man.”   
Stiles wonders for a second if he’s being flirted with, but then remembers the affectionate nickname Kira has for Scott and decides probably not.   
“Thanks. I guess. Anyway, I went to Davenport prep. You?”  
“Beacon Hill High. My mother was a nurse, and my dad… Another story for another day.”  
“Hey, there’s no shame in going to BH High. The Cyclones kicked our asses more than once. Didn’t you have that pretty boy captain?”  
“Jackson. Jackson Whittmore. We were co-captains for a year before he went to London.” Stiles tries not to be disappointed Scott doesn’t pick up on the hint he finds men attractive. “Co-captain? How does that even work?”  
“For real? He yelled at people, and I tried to mitigate the damage.”  
“I can see that. He seemed like a real piece of work. My dad pulled him over a couple of times, actually.”  
“Your dad?”  
“Sheriff Stilinski.”  
“Wait, you’re Tom’s kid? My mother likes him a lot.”  
“Wait, who’s your mother?”  
“Melissa. Melissa Delgado. She works at the hospital.”  
“No way, man! My dad’s had the biggest crush on her for years!” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop it.  
“He should ask her out –I’m sure she’ll say yes.”  
“I’ll tell him that. Okay, let me open up my laptop so you can tell me the Delgado story.”  
“Sure. You want a refill on that coffee?”  
“No thanks, I’m having tea.”  
“Top up on your tea then?”  
Stiles hands over his cup, and finds himself smiling at Scott’s equally smiling face. He looks down, and starts rummaging for his laptop. When Scott returns with two mugs he has the recording program running.  
“So, if you’re okay with it, I’m going to record the interview so we can have as natural a conversation as is possible, and back at the office I’ll condense the material into a readable format,” Stiles says.  
“So no notepad and ballpoint?”  
“No trilby with a ‘press’ card either. No, my handwriting is pretty crappy, and I like having a natural conversation as the basis.”  
“Sure, go ahead and record.”   
Stiles hits the record button.“This is Stiles Stilinski interviewing Scott McCall of the Delgado Center for Community Outreach.” He checks the signal recording, and is satisfied. “Mr. McCall, let’s start with the name.”  
“Call me Scott, please.”  
“Of course. Scott. So, why ‘Delgado center’?”  
Scott tells the story of how his grandfather came to the US in the 1960s. His mother trained to be a nurse mostly in the hospital itself. He got into a vet school on a scholarship. “In a way, I lucked out,” Scott says. “College itself was great, and I had been working for a vet for years, so I knew the real life applications of the material I was studying. But somehow there was this cultural gap between me and a lot of the student body. In my first week, I ran into Derek Hale, another guy from Beacon Hills and he kind of took a shine to me.”  
Stiles lifts a suggestive eyebrow.  
“No no, nothing like that. Or at least, not with him. I mean I’m not homophobic, or anything.”  
“Feeling a little defensive there?” Stiles presses, because sometimes the best defense is offense.  
Scott takes the bait and explains: “Bisexual, though I’ve mostly had relationships with women.”  
An amused smile plays at the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “Usually I’m the one flailing,” Stiles says. “And me too. Bisexual. Though incredibly undersexed.”  
Scott scoffs unbelieving at that. “Flailing mess,” Stiles repeats by way of explanation. “So, Derek Hale, last scion of the Hale dynasty of Beacon Hills?”  
Scott seems surprised at that. “How do you know?”  
“My dad was the sheriff and I was a morbid kid. I was kind of obsessed with the Hale fire in middle school.”  
“Ah. Well, Derek took me under his wing, showed me around. My fair ladied me, turned me into someone who could pass inconspicuously among old money. So I thought, why wait until you’ve already landed in uni? How many children are we losing along the way? My dad’s last name was useful. The only thing about him that was,” he spits out contemptuously. Stiles wonders for a second if that would be a good hook for the story. “So I talked to Derek about it. He has more money than he knows what to do with, and he was happy to help set up the center.” Scott looks around and adds, “And here we are.”  
“Is Derek still involved in the center?”  
“He’s on the board of trustees, of course. He brings in contacts. Helps develop programs. Behind the scenes stuff, you know. He’s not great with people.”  
Stiles looks at Scott appraisingly. With his boundless enthusiasm and cheerful disposition, it’s clear that people want to be around Scott McCall. “You are, though,” Stiles says, surprising himself, “good with people. I mean, usually, people make me feel like a flailing mess. And I don’t now.”  
“Aren’t journalists supposed to have excellent people skills?”  
Stiles makes a face. “I’m more of a digger. Research.”  
“So what brings you here?” Scott asks. He seems to genuinely want to know, so Stiles decides to tell the truth, again. “I was assigned the job. I’m glad though. It’s nice to get away from my desk for a bit.”  
Stiles realises Scott is looking at his hands, and all of a sudden he self-conscious of how he balls up his right hand in his left. Scott strokes over Stiles’ hand, “None of that,” Scott says softly, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Stiles consciously relaxes his hand, spreading his fingers out on the table, and picks up his mug again. Scott follows his movements intently. Briefly, Stiles wonders what it would feel like to get used to being held in that warm gaze. He shrugs and asks the next question. “Do you still play lacrosse?”  
“Not really, no. Some basketball. I work out as stress relief. Yourself?”  
Stiles shakes his head, “no, I quit in uni. Took up rowing for a bit.” Scott nods like it explains something. “I tried yoga for a while, but that was not for me, let me tell you.”  
“Was it the guided meditation or the balance exercises?” Scott asks, and it’s like he has Stiles all figured out.  
“Oh god, balancing acts are the worst! I’d topple over all the time!”  
“I think Boyd could be a better trainer for you, though. We help a lot of kids with some of the exercises we’ve derived from his yoga practice.”  
“Who is Boyd again?” Stiles asks frowning at the portraits of the community center employees.  
“The big black guy,” Scott says with a wide grin. “I know, not your average yogi. But he’s very good.” After a thoughtful pause, Scott adds: “He has to be.”  
Stiles has the material he needs to write his profile, but he is looking for an excuse to draw out his stay.  
“Another cup of tea?” Scott offers.  
Stiles caves. “Yes. Thanks.”He follows Scott into the kitchen and decides in for a penny and all of that.“So, what made you realize you’re bisexual?” Stiles asks as Scott pours some water in the kettle.  
Scott grins. “Isaac.”  
“One of the volunteers?” Stiles looks over his shoulder.  
“Yup. Well, he wasn’t a volunteer back then. He was on the lacrosse team too. My mom took him in after he was orphaned. He took up with my ex for a while, but boy, did I have a crush on him. You?”  
“Apart from an unhealthy interest in the Hale fire? I guess I always knew. I was glad to find a label for it at some point in high school. Did you ever go to The Jungle?”  
“Not really. I’m kind of a homeboy? I’m more of a gaming and take-out kind of guy. Plus, I know I can probably hook up at The Jungle, but I’m more of a relationship kind of guy.”  
Marry me, Stiles thinks. Instead, he says, “Cool. What kind of games do you play?”   
“A lot of Call of Duty. Some Halo.”  
“Cool. Me too,” Stiles says, “Mario Kart, too.”  
“Everyone plays Mario Kart,” Scott agrees enthusiastically. “Maybe we could play together sometime? Or is that a violation of the journalistic code of ethics?” Scott asks.  
Stiles’ heart skips a beat, “Yeah, that’d be cool. Though in the interest of full disclosure, I also play How To Train Your Dragon.”  
“I still play the Harry Potter games from time to time,” Scott mock-whispers.  
“Right! Those are pretty cool too,” Stiles admits, “my high school crush was a secret Harry Potter nerd. Well, secret nerd all around, really.”  
They swap stories about games and books and movies they’ve liked. It feels like the start of something, Stiles thinks. They are knee-deep in geekery, when Kira knocks on the door to inform Scott she’d like to take her lunch break.  
“Oh, right, I’ll come right up,” Scott says. “Sorry man, I’ve got to move to the front of the house.”  
“No problem, I should head back to the office anyway.” Stiles gets up and Scott pulls him in for a hug. Stiles finds himself melting into the embrace. He is weirdly comfortable around Scott McCall.  
“I’ll email you the headshots to go with the article in the afternoon,” Scott promises, “and give me your number so we can set up a time for a CoD tournament, okay?”

When he gets back to the office, Stiles bangs out the profile piece in two hours, and titles it Call of Duty because he can. Editing can always change it if they don’t like it, he reckons. When he checks his phone he sees that he has a text from Scott. He files the story with the headshots as soon as they come in. After some deliberation, he texts Scott: I just filed your profile, if there’s no glitches it should run with the Sunday paper. Which means I’m ethically okay with asking: free for Halo next week? Stiles

He puts his phone away and goes looking for coffee, trying to convince himself he isn’t really nervous about the reply. He takes a cup of tepid coffee from the coffee maker and adds three spoonfuls of sugar to mask the taste. He carries his cup back to his cubicle where he pulls up the paperwork he’d been digging up on Argent Arms. He feels that the errors are glaring him in the face, but he doesn’t know where to start unravelling the threads. Ten minutes in, he is interrupted by his text alert: Awesome. How is Tuesday night for you? We could get take-out. Scott Food and gaming. Is that a date? Stiles wonders. It could be a date. It’s a date. Meet you at 7? He immediately regrets it, what if Scott doesn’t mean it that way? Good. Looking forward to it. Scott texts back.

Monday night, Stiles has a cleaning frenzy. He knows rationally Scott probably won’t notice, but stress cleaning is a thing that he does. He vacuums, does all the dishes and rinses out some the glasses, and dusts every nook and cranny of his apartment. 

On Tuesday afternoon, Finstock sends him home “to run a hole in the carpet there.” So he fucks around on the internet for a while, waiting for the clock to turn to seven. He takes a long shower and checks the Xbox set-up. 

Five past seven, the doorbell rings. The door camera shows Scott holding up two plastic bags. Stiles buzzes him in. “It’s the second floor.” Stiles walks up to his door, and Scott turns up shortly. Stiles takes over one of the bags.  
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I ordered a bunch of different things.”  
“Awesome. I’m not a picky eater,” Stiles says, “as long as it isn’t off the Scoville scale, I’ll probably eat it.” Scott’s eyes crinkle adorably at the mention of the Scoville scale. It feels like home with Scott in his apartment in a way Stiles hasn’t felt in a long while. 

They eat, play some Call of Duty and a best of five series of Mario Kart. Stiles wins on a technicality. In between the rounds, they talk. About how Stiles fell into journalism, how Scott made team captain of the lacrosse team. They figure out Scott’s father was responsible for getting Stiles’ father suspended for a while, but was big enough a man to also get him reinstated. “Probably the one decent thing he did,” Scott growls.   
“You don’t get along with your dad?”   
“No.” Suddenly, Scott seems almost vulnerable. Stiles kind of wants to hug him, but fears that might be too forward. He puts his hand over Scott’s and somehow that’s even worse. Scott looks at their entwined hands and up to Stiles’ face. It’s the unmistakable ‘can I?’ look on his face. Stiles leans in a bit and parts his lips a little, still looking at Scott. Scott looks at him, and mirrors his movement. The next moment, they are kissing. Making out. Stiles strokes his hand over Scott’s arm, slips over his shoulder and tries to hoist himself up and ply himself into Scott’s lap. They break apart for a moment. “Is this okay?” Stiles asks.  
“More than.” Scott’s smile is a little dazed and Stiles folds his legs on both sides of Scott’s legs before resuming kissing.

He loses track of time, losing himself in touching Scott, running his fingers through his hair, stroking along the slightly crooked jaw line. Scott gently nips at him. “Not that this isn’t awesome, but I think I should head home.”  
Stiles’ face falls.   
“No, no, not like that. I just, I want to do this right, okay?”   
Stiles gives him a dry peck on his mouth.   
“I think you’re amazing and I want to date you. Properly,” Scott says and Stiles feels something blossoming up in his stomach. Scott looks at Stiles uncertainly. “Unless that’s not what you want?”   
Stiles beams at him. “I am… Yes… I want that. The dating. But you don’t have to leave.”  
“I think I should. But we can go on a date on Saturday? Dinner and a movie, maybe?”  
Stiles feels his face hurt trying to smile wider. “Dude, you want to romance me properly.”  
“Well, I think you’re kind of romance worthy?”  
“Promise me one thing.”  
“Of course. Anything.”  
Stiles wants to save Scott’s earnest face forever. “Pick seats in the back. I’ve always wanted to make out in a movie theatre.”  
Scott starts to grin.: “You’re a menace, you know that?”  
“I try.”

Stiles buys dinner. Scott gets them back row tickets for Battleship. They make out the entire movie.


End file.
